Without a Single Voice
by poopertrooper
Summary: "You are such a pathetic fool, England. How did you deserve to the leader of the United Kingdom? You can't even defend yourself!" he heard Scot yell, sending a swift kick to England's side...


_Okay, I had to do a Hetalia one-shot...Because I got a new notebook as an early birthday present! So I wrote this bitch. I was looking at a 100 theme challenge list and I found #56. 'Kick in the Head'. And I was also listening to Breaking Benjamin's 'Breath' at the time, and it flowed from there. Hope you enjoy. And note, I'm sorry I made Scotland look like a cruel bastard in this one. _

_..._

_**Without a Single Voice**_

_**A Hetalia One-Shot**_

_**By A Hot Delicious Cup Of Tea**_

...

_All this blood, so much of it, it's sickening to see..._

England shivered in his place, vision blurring to where he could barely register even colors. He waited for the next blow, when he would feel the sharp, stabbing pain that would accompany it. When he would black out, the only thing he would see would be the snide grin on Scotland's face as he beat him into the ground. When he would wake up, seeing nothing but the crimson red, iron stench of his own blood.

**WHACK!** The pain came as he had predicted, and he yowled, lithe body shaking as he fell back onto the concrete once more. His hands paled as he grabbed nothing but thin air, letting his fingernails drive into the palm of his hands, drawing blood.

The blood flowed slowly out, dripping with a 'plat-plat' to the ground beside him. England's body writhed as he could feel his mind's messages to his being of the pain he was currently experiencing.

At this point, he wished that he were dead, that Scotland would die himself. Why did Scotland do this to him? What had he done to deserve such a horrible fate? Why?

England tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't move them an inch. They were crusted shut with blood. He wanted to move his lips, but the blood was choking him to the point of immense pain. How was he still alive? He wanted to move his body, but he was numb, as if he were frozen to the ground.

_"You are such a pathetic fool, England. How did you deserve to be the leader of the United Kingdom? You can't even defend yourself!" _he heard Scot yell, sending a swift kick to England's side.

England's body rolled a few feet from his original spot, revealing an array of bruises and wounds. He now barely felt the colder floor, and started shivering violently. Why could he still hear Scotland's words?

_YOU'RE SUCH A PATHETIC FOOL...YOU CAN'T EVEN DEFEND YOURSELF!_

_~Part II~_

When England found consciousness once more, he could see smooth white blocks. Was this a ceiling? Where did he end up? Was he dead?

_Where am I? _England thought to himself, realizing he was still alive.

"Oh, you're awake, huh?"

England struggled to turn his head, he could feel a simi-sharp cast wrapped around his neck. Had it been broken? What bodily feelings did he lose?

"It's America, remember? The doctor said you might forget about me, so do you remember?" he could now tell it was America speaking.

England tried to open his mouth, but when he did, nothing came out. Not even sound. His emerald green eyes widened, and he attempted to sit up, without success. He continued trying to move his lips, but nothing would come out, not even normal mouth sounds.

He eventually gave up, ignoring America completely. He could feel a couple of tears slowly falling down his cheeks.

_A country who can't talk. How stupid of him. Did Scotland cause him to lose his voice? Or was it all the trauma from the event the cause? He barely remembered what caused it to happen in the first place. Scotland's jealousy. That was it. He wanted to overthrow England from being the main country of the United Kingdom. He wanted to be the center of it all, to throw the English to the back-burner._

"England? Are you okay? Did you lose your voice? The doctor said that you might've lost something, cause you hurt your spine and all...But why your voice? That doesn't make much sense..." America murmured, as if he were talking to a newborn baby with a mental disease.

Now, England didn't really care. Without his voice, he wouldn't be able to continue on as a country, he'd end up disappearing at some point soon. To become mere history that not a single wise person would listen to and respect.

He would be gone, a part of Scotland, _and that was all he knew when he closed his fading eyes for the last time..._

_The End._


End file.
